Wilderness Poetry

In A High Sierra Meadow

Leaves lying listless

Listening

To the wind's gentle passage

Passing

From the mountain to the meadow

From the granite to the grass.

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When It Comes

If I feel uneasy about the night

When I think it comes too soon

When the wind blows from the sea

And fills my soul to the brim

With a spirit so sweet and strong

That my heart beats so violently

And my flesh frights with a sudden chill,

Then I think perhaps the time has come

For me to steal away, westward in the night

And catch the solar wind upon my back

As the morning's sun soars high aloft

To cross the zenith of the sky

Then sink below the somnolent haze

Dispersed forever into nothingness.

[Both poems, copyright T. Fredric Jones, were published in Tangent Magazine, Spring 2009.]